The Seduction of Surrender
by Faith360
Summary: Freedom is a lie. A series of connected oneshots based in a world where Nasuada swears fealty to Galbatorix, and the inevitable story of a prisoner who must find the courage to change her world or be changed by it. AU. Nasuada/Murtagh. **ON HIATUS**
1. Prologue: Defeat

**A few notes:**

**1, I can't make any promises on continuing soon, or at all - full time student and part-time employee and so forth.  
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**2, These are more like connected oneshots than a story, so it will skip a lot of time and only cover the interesting stuff. Yay for no filler.**

**3, Although I do love Nasuada and Murtagh, this isn't entirely about them, though it will be for a while. There is a lot of mush and angst and general sadness. This is, after all, Galbatorix's world.**

**And that is all, for once. Lucky for you I don't ramble as much as I do in my other fandoms.  
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**DISCLAIMER: So, _Inheritence_ isn't mine, but I suppose the idea is. Sort of. Not really. Ah well.  
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><p><em>In love, we can do anything, be anything, without even realizing we can do or be it. All we know is we love and are loved in return, and that alone we will take to places we never thought we could go, forgetting that what we do or who we are wasn't possible before.<em>

_._

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The blood pooled on the floor. She watched as he killed her love, again and again, bringing him back from the brink of death only to push him back again.

She screamed until her screaming seemed to be coming from the walls themselves, cursing and sobbing and somehow able to see every gruesome detail through the haze of her tears.

His eyes met hers, agony and sorrow abiding in the dark circles she used to look into so admiringly. Even in the depths of unending pain, he looked on her with love. "Be strong, Nasuada!" He told her, gritting his teeth and groaning.

She couldn't possibly be strong, not when his encouragement was rewarded with more pain. She continued to scream, scream protests, scream his name, beg for the end for both of them. He had promised her, if it came down to it, that he would end her if the torture grew to be too much. He had not anticipated that the king would do more than cast illusions when - if - he found out about their feelings.

Feelings that had not been spoken of, not been acted except to heal her wounds, to comfort him in the difficult maze of an impossible life. Feelings that had never had a chance to grow beyond unity in the midst of despair.

All the things the monster had shown her, all the false futures, the smiles, the caresses, the _children_. Free, full of spirit, laughter...love.

Love.

The words tore from her lips, mingling with her screams and his cries, unaware of what she was doing, without heed, without thought. She had to save him. She _loved_ him.

Suddenly, the king smiled, one of those wicked, false smiles she had seen so often. Her love hung limp in his grasp. "There now, dear." He dropped her love's body to the floor. She whimpered, her throat so dry she was barely able to make the sound. Her tears felt like they would drown her. Blood pooled in her mouth, flowing out of the sores she'd bitten in her anguish. She choked and coughed on it, spraying droplets into the air.

The king took steps towards her, his fingers running down her cheek. "Why must you make everything so hard? He didn't have to die, Nasuada. You could have saved him."

"Bring him back!" She coughed, trying to sit up to spit out the blood but her restraints kept her to the stone table. She began to curse loudly, continuing to choke on her own blood until her vision began to swim.

He smiled. "As you wish, Nasuada."

Her dreams revolved around her love's agony-filled eyes.


	2. Chapter 1: Beloved

_Who, being loved, is poor?  
>-Oscar Wilde<em>

_._

_.  
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She awoke in comfort, to gold and white and purple and black, colors of royalty. Though she felt exhausted and broken, she could tell she had been healed. She stared up at the ceiling and whimpered, putting her head in her hands as her sob caught in her throat, as if she couldn't breathe.

She _couldn't_ breathe. Not when...

"Nasuada."

The voice was gentle, familiar, the touch on her wrist warm and electrifying. She shook her head, attempting to draw her arm back to her face when he pulled her hand away. She met his eyes and stopped struggling for a moment. Even if he was an illusion, could she live in it happily?

His eyes locked onto hers, and his mind pressed in.

_His_ mind.

"I tried to stop you, Nasuada." His voice choked as her arms fell limp by her side. "I'm so sorry. You couldn't hear me, the illusion was too strong."

He was alive. He was real, and he was alive. This was reality.

He had tried to stop her...what had she done? She gasped and cried again, rolling over onto her stomach to claw at the pillows and scream into them. His hand was on her shoulder, she could feel his arm across her, his voice in her ear. "I know, love. I know."

"I swore to him." She groaned burying her face in the pillow as if to suffocate herself. "Everything, _everything_ is lost."

"Not everything," He insisted. "The Varden still march, Nasuada, and I am still here. It will be easier for me to keep you safe."

"Safe?" she rose up and turned to him with a fierce glare and acidic tone. "As long as _I_ am safe? What of the rest of the world, Murtagh? What of Alagaesia?"

He stared back sadly. "We can still help them, Nasuada. Small rebellions are better than sitting idly by while he controls us."

Her eyes found the sheets. He was right. Galbatorix _owned_ her now.

Physically. Because she was her own. She remembered what she had told Murtagh the first time he had come to her, and took her own advice. And some of her father's.

One does not have the right to regret what one never gained.

She grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him.

He paused, startled, but as she expected he responded; eagerly, even. He had said he would be by her side, then he should keep his word. He sighed quietly and she felt his fingers in her hair, drawing her closer. This was relief, freedom of heart, a small rebellion.

He was alive. And no matter what they had sworn to the false king they were free.

She groaned and relaxed, slowly falling backward from the pressure. He guided her down, hands gentle and careful, lips sweet and doing everything he could to betray his love for her. She was fragile. But she would not break, not with him. He made her whole.

Galbatorix surely would leave her alone for some time, and time alone she was granted. She was not alone with herself but alone with him. Alone together in the newfound freedom of this unity, one being in two bodies.

She fell asleep in his arms, tears gone and naught but love in her dreams.

She sat in Galbatorix's court and he met her eyes across the room. Her ally and confident in torture, her friend in the horrors of this false luxury.

Murtagh, dragon rider, son of Morzan and Selena, partner of Thorn. Her life, her world, her strength, her companion.

Her lover.


	3. Chapter 2: Heartache

**So now we have the intro to our main idea/storyline. It's kind of a Mary-Sueish idea, and I resisted at first, but when I finally sat down and looked at the whole thing, it's actually kind of interesting, what with Galbatorix's inclination to lies and coercion instead of violence. And of course it's destined for tragedy.**

**I still own nothing :(  
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><p><em>A mother who is really a mother is never free.<em>

-Honore de Balzac

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She would have been happy if this had happened in better times. But now she was crying.

She held his pillow to her chest and took deep breaths, leaning back against the headboard and holding the pillow to her face. Goodness, it still smelled like him. If she could hold onto his memory for just a while longer, maybe she could survive until he returned.

When he came through the door she had stopped crying. Her face was blank and seemingly lifeless. She stared into nothing without a thought. "Nasuada!" he raced to her side, hands on her face, begging her to look at him. "Love, speak to me. They said you were ill." they both knew that could have been an excuse for anything.

She saw his eyes, her Murtagh, her lover - whom Galbatorix had let her keep thus far, even though he undoubtedly knew of their relations, a secret that was no longer a secret as they lived in the same rooms.

Her tone was forced calm. "Look at me, truly look at me, and tell me if something is wrong. Tell me he is lying."

One of his hands slid down to her shoulder as he searched her eyes, uttering a phrase she didn't understand but recognized as the ancient language. "Nasuada, there is nothing-"

His abrupt pause and the shock upon his face proved their master right. "Tell me he is lying, Murtagh!" she raised her voice. "Please."

"I can't." he sounded as broken as she did. "Oh, love, I can't."

She buried herself in his arms and cried.

"We cannot let him control her as he controls us." the love he already felt was evident in his hard tone.

"We _will not_." she amended, tightening her grip.

He kissed the top of her head. "Our daughter will live without fear. I swear it."

She was so worried his statement almost didn't register. Despite her concern, she still felt a jolt of happiness when he revealed his findings.

_Her_. A _daughter_.


	4. Chapter 3: Equilibrium

**A note about Galbatorix's behavior in this chapter: the only complaint I had about the last battle was the random 'I hate kids' classic villain rant. Galbatorix likes to bend people to his will, and who's easier to convince than children? Galbatorix would totally love young, impressionable people. I mean, the possibilities are just too appealing to his character. He wouldn't be opposed to killing them and he'd still use them as bait for Eragon and Saphira, but not all villains have to hate rainbows and ponies and babies. I know Paolini's the author, but after how bad the end was screwed over, I can believe that his characterization was off here.**

**Anyway, I still lack ownership, but I do own the right to critique, as demonstrated above.  
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><p><em>Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.<em>

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

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Galbatorix made allowances for her condition. He'd smile in that disarming way and pat her on the cheek, cold against her skin. "Children are a gift, Nasuada. They must be taken care of." And then he would send her away if she didn't feel well, or sit her down when she felt dizzy, have a servant bring her a drink when she felt dehydrated, or staunchly enforce a non-alcoholic atmosphere at dinner. For her.

No, not for her. For her _daughter_.

No matter how well Galbatorix treated her, Nasuada still feared for her daughter. Her life would be difficult, that much was unavoidable - what with both her parents sworn to a mad, immortal, supremely powerful king - but it seemed she would be treated well enough. Until she rebelled, at least.

Murtagh's words echoed in her mind often,

"Our daughter will live without fear. I swear it."

How could she? Her life would revolve around fear. If she didn't have fear, she would die. Fear would keep her _alive_. Fear would keep her safe. But fear was how Galbatorix controlled. How could their precious daughter live completely without fear when fear would keep her alive and trapped, but lack of it would let her die free?

She broached this topic to Murtagh after dinner one night, when she was combing her hair at the elaborate vanity – which she wanted to give to her daughter, but knowing Galbatorix he would give the baby her own extravagant room. Murtagh paused, blankets in his hand as he turned down their bed for the night. "I don't know." he finally answered. "Nasuada, I have no idea what to do. There must be a balance of fear and courage." He shook his head and finished his task. "Whatever we do, we will do everything we can, and she will be fine. Galbatorix won't hurt her if we...behave. Surely he will not make her swear until she is older, or until she becomes dangerous."

Nasuada looked down at the brush in her lap and spoke quietly. "She is already dangerous, Murtagh."


	5. Chapter 4: To Define

**I love how dragons pick their own names and are so much better than humans when it comes to knowing themselves. And I absolutely love Thorn. That is all.**

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><p><em>The one thing I want to leave my children is an honorable name..<em>

-Theodore Roosevelt

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As Nasuada grew larger, Galbatorix grew...happier. She supposed happy wasn't the correct word, but it was as close as she could manage. Anxious, she supposed. Anticipation? She knew why, in an abstract way, but she wanted to hear the extent of it in words.

She also dreaded the prospect of hearing the plans he had for her daughter.

Murtagh seemed to have his heart in the right place, for even though he worried as much as Nasuada and often came home frowning, he would light up when he saw her, sometimes even speaking to their child or telling Nasuada little things that had changed each day. She enjoyed these talks, because it seemed like everything was normal. But most importantly, Murtagh was happy, and that was something so rare and beautiful she had to cherish it.

As the day began to draw closer, Nasuada spent more of her time in her rooms, and Murtagh smiled far more often. Finally, one day when he had taken her outside for luncheon - she had missed the sun dearly - the subject of names came to light.

"It won't be much longer." She said.

"No." Murtagh paused, contemplating. "love, don't you think we should set about finding her a name, now that the day is so close?"

Nasuada paused. Truthfully, she hadn't given it much thought. "Yes, although for the life of me I cannot think of any." She turned to him. "I assume you bring this up because you have?"

"In part." He admitted, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "But I cannot say I am overly fond of any of them." he sighed. "It's like naming a dragon, I suppose. There will be a single word that defines her more perfectly than any other, and she will choose it, in a way."

_Hmph._ Thorn snorted, coming to land near them after a leisurely circuit. Nasuada had become very fond of the dragon. His strength was something she admired, something she wished her daughter would have. Thorn seemed just as excited about the prospect of a child as his rider, and had taken just as much interest in her life. _Human children cannot speak right away, and their reasoning is even slower. Do not humans name their children for what they aspire for them to become?_

"I don't wish to trap her." Nasuada protested gently. "To make her feel as if she has to be what we imagined."

_Then name her something practical._ Thorn settled into the grass with a light thud. _A name meaning 'beautiful' or 'strong', or perhaps even 'noble'. Of course, you could always call her Thorn._

The three of them laughed, and continued to toss ideas around for the rest of the afternoon in companionable serenity. Nasuada did not find a single one she loved, but she discovered many she liked, which could be said for Murtagh, but not his dragon, who never gave more than a, "That sounds...well enough, I suppose." and that to the couple's favorites.

It seemed Murtagh had been right about dragons - their sense of self-identity was invaluable, and Nasuada had a feeling that her daughter's name would depend on Thorn's opinion. She was not entirely opposed.


	6. Chapter 5: Captivate

**So...fluffy...must...die. I personally love this one. I feel so cool being in control of people's lives. It makes me want to practice my evil villain cackle. As for the translations, look at the bottom.  
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**And a note: Galbatorix eases her pain as a sort of reward. He's quite happy that he gets a human being whose every memory can be manipulated by him, and it's her weakness for Murtagh that gave it to him. And it couldn't hurt to endear himself to her a little.  
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><p><em>A baby is born with a need to be loved – and never outgrows it.<em>

-Frank Howard Clark

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The day her daughter was born was the only day Nasuada was truly grateful for Galbatorix.

How could women possibly endure this time and time again? It was unfathomable to her. And she had been tortured at Galbatorix's will by her lover's hand.

To her relief and surprise, Galbatorix himself came to see her when her contractions began to worsen. He dulled the pain greatly before going to join Murtagh, "Waiting for the precious angel to grace us with her presence."

He asked if they had picked a name. She shook her head, taking deep breaths and sighing as the pain ebbed away. "It is something you need to ponder, Nasuada. A name is an important thing. Perhaps I shall discuss it with your husband while we wait for her arrival." And he left.

Nasuada was grateful for his timely departure, as well.

From what the midwives and magicians told her, the birth had gone well. By the time the girl was born Nasuada couldn't feel a thing. She felt extremely tired, but she was not in pain.

She leaned back against the pillows and let the maids bustle around her, cleaning this and that and chattering as they went, while the magicians discussed things no one cared about or understood. None of their words nor the midwives' exclamations of happiness could drown out the heartrendingly beautiful sound of her daughter's cries.

"Here you are, milady." Nasuada's eyes widened and she sat up as much as she could without a steady _thump_ of pain breaking through Galbatorix's fading magic, her gaze locked onto the red faced child being passed into her arms.

She felt so light, so tiny, so small, so…fragile. How could she possibly let something so delicate into such a harsh world? A world where lies and deceptions could hurt worse than any hot iron?

How could she stand to let this beautiful child live in the same _world_ as Galbatorix, let alone in his company, or, dare she anticipate it, his _favor_?

How had the world come to such a point when she could not simply be happy to have a daughter?

Almost all protest was erased from her mind when the child let out a small whimper, stirring slightly in her arms. "She has strong lungs, milady." The midwife chuckled. "Could yell up a gale if she wanted to. And a strong grip. Could barely get my finger away."

Enchanted by the lovely creature before her, Nasuada gently removed her supporting arm from under the child's wrapped legs, holding a finger close to the girl's tiny hands. Her little fingers flexed, the knuckles wrinkled and her fingernails no bigger than a sizable freckle, her hands laced with lines. Did everyone start as wrinkly as they ended?

Of course, Nasuada knew that not everyone met their ends old and gray and wrinkled.

Suddenly, something wrapped around her finger with just enough pressure to make the skin turn red and white, the skin smooth and soft against her own.

All thought was wiped from her mind.

This child _needed_ her. _Wanted_ her. Held her with as much force as she could manage. Never wanted to release.

Nasuada never wanted to let this girl out of arms, for no other reason than to stare upon her perfection for all of her days.

She heard someone speaking, but she couldn't comprehend. She was so consumed by the every breath of the small being in her arms that she didn't care. Wouldn't care. This was her child. Her baby. _Her baby_. The notion had been forbidden to her, before. Now it seemed as if every door was open.

But who cared about those other doors? She was in the only room she ever wanted to be in.

Her mother didn't realize the midwives and maids and magicians had begun to slowly dwindle in number, or that they were bustling about paying no heed to mother and child. That didn't matter – neither was paying attention to any of them, either.

To Nasuada's surprise, a voice called to her. Jumped out at her. Demanded her attention. But who could demand more attention than her baby?

The voice gasped, deep and melodic and just as awestruck by her child's wonder as she was. As they should be – she was worthy of such treatment. The voice muttered a phrase in the ancient language, "By the Gods," or some similar exclamation of wonder. Finally, the voice began to speak English.

"Nasuada." Her name rolled off this newcomer's tongue, easy and familiar and beautiful, and when she heard it only the baby kept her from leaping out of the bed and holding him with every ounce of her strength.

Only the baby.

_Their_ baby.

It was as if the world was shifting again. Instead of the child becoming the center of focus, another presence joined her, worthy of the same loyalty and love but instead choosing to stand beside her mother in admiration of the girl. If the child was the sun, then Nasuada was the moon. For she revolved around Murtagh, her world, and they both revolved around the sun.

She felt Murtagh at her side, felt the pressure on the mattress as he sat beside her, his breath on her cheek, the warmth of his presence, his arm around her shoulders and his laugh in her ear. "Nasuada, _thornessa er ai draumr_. Such perfection! How can such perfection exist? But she does." He sighed and reached a hand toward the girl, hesitating before gently running his fingers across her thin hair, gleaming copper when the light shone properly. "_Ono ignasia, iet koma._" You shine, my girl.

The girl made a soft noise in recognition. Recognition of her _father_. The thought brought Nasuada to tears.

Murtagh kissed her hair. "Nasuada, how can this possibly be wrong?"

There were plenty of answers. But she only cared about one. "It isn't." She said firmly. "It cannot be. She cannot be wrong."

He pressed his lips to her temple once more and then rested his forehead there in contentment. "She is not." He whispered, confident. "She is not wrong." His hand ghosted across the girl's crown again. "She is not wrong."

If anyone else came or left, spoke to them or didn't, neither parent knew it, for she was the center, and nothing else could replace her now.

They learned later that Galbatorix watched them from the doorway with a 'proud' smile before deciding that they would be impossible to rouse.

He had made sure of that.

His adaptations would not harm the girl. It was by his magic she had begun, and it was more than likely it was by his magic she would end. But that was not what the king cared about.

For it was by magic – his magic – that she would live.

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><p><strong>I got these translations from the Shur'Tugal website. Technically 'koma' means 'woman', but since I didn't have much to work with, I figure it can stretch to mean 'girl'. As for the other phrase, 'Thornessa er ai draumr' means 'This is a dream'.<strong>


	7. Chapter 6: Identity

**Murtagh=adorable father**

**Thorn=plain epic  
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****Me=owns nothing****

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><p><em>Let parents bequeath to their children not riches, but a spirit of reverence.<em>

-Plato

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It became quite clear to Nasuada that she was being unfair to Murtagh.

He would not so much as let it slip that Nasuada spent far more time with their daughter than he. How could he? They were the two he loved most in the world. The only two he loved in the world. They deserved to be together.

But the way he would watch the baby girl, the way only her mother could draw his eyes away, the way he would seem to stop breathing altogether….his way with her led Nasuada to believe that her didn't hold her nearly enough.

A mere week after the girl's birth, Nasuada sat in bed, cradling her and humming, and came to a conclusion. "Murtagh," He looked up immediately and seemed to nearly appear by her side, eyes searching hers for any clue as to what she needed.

She laughed, placing a hand on his cheek fondly. "Sit with us."

His delight was immediate.

He sat beside her and made to wrap his arm around her shoulder, as was his custom, when she shifted her shoulders toward him, smiling at the confused expression on his face. "I apologize for not doing this sooner, love."

Murtagh's eyes were inevitably drawn to the baby; he straightened as Nasuada passed her to him, carefully taking her into his arms. Most new fathers, she had heard, would hesitate to touch their children, almost for fear of breaking. Murtagh was different, as he always had been. He held her without hesitation, sought out even the briefest opportunity to touch her.

He sighed when the girl nestled into his arms, quiet and content. Odd, the nurses had said. After her initial cry she had fell silent, and when she finally opened her eyes it was as if she was checking to see if they were still there. A brief, halfway opening of one eye, so small they couldn't even see the color – though the nurses all said it would be blue, babies always had blue eyes – as if her curiosity of the outside world had been sated. Her parents were still there. She didn't need to see them to be content with that.

Nasuada became briefly worried that she would not cry – it was supposed to strengthen her lungs – but whenever the girl needed something she would catch attention with brief fits of tears and shouts. As soon as she felt her mother's hands, she would quiet, and would stay silent until she needed something else.

"It's just odd, is all." The nurse said, frowning down at the girl. "She doesn't cry like she should. Always as if she's trying to get your attention, and always for something like food or a changing or pain. Never because she wants to be held or to see someone."

The nurse was wrong about that one, Nasuada soon found out.

Mere moments after Murtagh set the sleeping girl in her cradle, she began to cry again. She had just been fed, just been changed, and Murtagh sensed no pain. When he picked her up, she began to quiet.

When he passed her to her mother, however, she grew louder.

Startled, Murtagh took her back into his arms, and with his finger clasped in her iron grip, she fell asleep, still holding on.

She became like that often. Sometimes only Murtagh could soothe her, sometimes she simply sought his touch. It was not as if she did not seek her mother's, but there was something about her father, some bond between the two that set all right in the child's world.

It was then, as he held her to his chest and whispered to her in a mixture of both their tongue and the ancient language, that her name was spoken for the first time.

Her parents froze, the cadence echoing in her their minds, replaying, as both looked to the girl. She did not rouse.

To their surprise – well, not really, this seemed very much like him – Thorn did not say anything more to them, but instead spoke to the girl herself, being kind enough to include them in the conversation.

_Hello, little one_. Nasuada was reminded of the dragon and rider she had once known but refused to remember. _It has taken much time, but it seems fate has finally deigned to give you a name_. He laughed in their minds. The girl stirred but did not wake, as if Thorn's voice was a dream. _You are very brave and very strong. And very healthy, from what I hear. You deserve a strong name. And, at your parents' wishes, you also deserve a beautiful one. There is a yellow flower whose name I give to you. It means 'rational', little one. May it bring you the clarity to see things as they are and the courage to act wisely upon what you see._

Murtagh, Nasuada, and Thorn spoke in unison, their voices penetrating her dreams, burning the memory of her family into her being.

_Alyssa_.

She tightened her grip on her father's finger and cooed happily.


	8. Chapter 7: Green

**This one's kinda short, but it's cute.**

**And an amendment to the disclaimer, I do own Alyssa. Mwahaha.  
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><p><em>What feeling is so nice as a child's hand in ours? So small, so soft and warm, like a kitten huddling in the shelter of your clasp.<em>

-Marjorie Holmes

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Alyssa was almost one year old when her eyes began to change. She was sitting up and crawling around quicker than had previously seemed possible, trying to pull herself to a standing position on furniture, bumping into almost everything, and laughing even when she was hurt.

After one such escapade with a table leg, Murtagh placed her in her crib and stopped to stare, eyes wide. "Nasuada."

Worried, she stepped into the room. "What is it?'

"Her eyes aren't as blue anymore."

Nasuada hurried over, her hands on his arm as they stared down at the girl, who looked up at her beloved parents with a bright smile. "Goodness, they're lighter."

"Much lighter." He agreed, running two fingers down the side of her face. "Look at her, Nasuada! I can swear that looks almost green."

Nasuada bent closer to the girl, examining her eyes closely. Alyssa giggled and reached her hand out to her mother, barely able to grab with her chubby fingers but able to run her hand down her cheek. Nasuada smiled. "Yes, dear." She kissed the girl's hand. "I know. But let me look at your eyes."

Alyssa held as still as she could, still letting out the occasional giggle or gurgle of happiness at the sight of her parents so absorbed in her. Murtagh sighed, absentmindedly playing along as she fiddled with his hand. "I wonder how long it will be before they settle."

"I don't know." Nasuada frowned, standing straight. "Perhaps I should ask."

Alyssa frowned, still holding Murtagh's hand, and whimpered at her mother's retreat. "Oh, come now, love." Murtagh chided, flicking her playfully on the chin. "You know it's time to sleep."

She looked up at him with wide, pale eyes, and every time she met their gaze they fell deeper than they had before.


	9. Chapter 8: Exploration

**Another thing on the list of things I love: how random toddlers are. And hilarious to watch, especially when they're torturing other people. Poor Murtagh.  
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><p><em>The child supplies the power but the parents have to do the steering.<em>

-Benjamin Spock

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Thorn grunted in surprise. _She is quick._

Murtagh shot him a quick glare as he rushed to catch up with his toddling daughter, grabbing her around the waist and hauling her up to his body as she laughed, as if it was all a game. _You have no idea_.

Thorn laughed. _That is good. She will escape her enemies._

_ She will escape _me_. _Murtagh frowned, attempting to keep the wiggling toddler in his grasp. _She is not even two years and she already wishes to run away. Surely this is a sign of some kind_.

Again, Thorn laughed at his rider's troubles. _Surely it means she wishes to explore._

_ She can explore within arm's reach._ Murtagh amended.

_What fun is that?_

_ If you don't quit being such a smart mouth, I swear, I'll-_

"Mom-ma!"

Alyssa practically fell out of her father's hand – causing a look of alarm to spread across his face until he realized she was safe on the ground – before running to her mother, grabbing her legs and sighing happily. "Mommy."

Nasuada ran her fingers through the girl's steadily growing hair, shooting Murtagh a sympathetic glance. He had seen the girl get away from her just as many times. "Hello, Lyss. Are you having fun?"

In an instant, Alyssa had nodded, shouted something incomprehensible, and set a course straight for Thorn.

Nasuada and Murtagh did not have time to react, but watched with wide as she stumbled into the dragon's huge leg, giggling and looking up at him with a contagious smile. "Torn."

Thorn snorted. _Close enough._

Her parents sighed with relief. Thorn laughed.

Murtagh growled. _Stop laughing_.

As if she could sense the direction his thoughts were taking, Nasuada crossed her arms at the dragon, who had taken to including her in their conversations. "One day she will be old enough to run properly, and then it will be you chasing her across the countryside. I should like to think we will be around to laugh and be unhelpful."

Thorn almost seemed to roll his eyes, as the girl tried to climb upon his leg. _She is determined, and that she gains from you, Nasuada. Her spirit she takes from Murtagh. Think about that when she runs._

"And what of you?" Murtagh asked, using both his mind and his mouth.

Thorn looked proudly down at her. _Her heart, of course._

Somehow, that proved to be true. Thorn's heart guided him, and those he loved were his strength, a strength that, once found, could never be shaken or destroyed.


	10. Chapter 9: Possibility

**And now, to address my reviewers, because they had good input. In general, of course Galbatorix (I just can't bring myself to call him Galby...) has to step in and make their lives miserable. As for why he hasn't already, Galbatorix is a patient man. He's waiting for Alyssa to grow up enough to be useful. Now for specifics (sorry if your name doesn't show up, FF is being stupid today):  
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**Witchy Pixie: **Yes, it's fast. It's more like connected oneshots than a story. It's just easier for me to write that way. And funner. But as Alyssa grows up it'll be more like chapters.

**Restrained Freedom**: I personally thought Galbatorix was good in Inheritance until that kid rant I went on about. He has a cool character, and I enjoy writing him. But sadly, yes, the bubble has to pop. Here's our evil king, the leaderless rebellion will be addressed next chapter.

**NormalityIsNonexistent: **Kudos for giving me five reviews. You are now my favorite person.

**TrappedInWonderland: **Thank you :) I don't have kids, but I do have three little siblings (one of which is upstairs singing to himself at the moment) and from my experience with them, that was what I imagined being a new parent would feel like, especially for Nasuada.

**Franny Mika:** I work with toddlers, I'm an expert on cute.

**Warrior of the Flock of Music Shines**: You are not the only one disappointed at the ending. I tried to find a way to fix it but I just ended up with another original story -_-. Alyssa is one of my favorite names, too.

**Thank you all for reviewing! And thank you to those who favorited or suscribed to story alert. You all deserve kudos. **

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><p><em>The good fighters of old first put themselves beyond the possibility of defeat, and then waited for an opportunity of defeating the enemy.<em>

-Sun Tzu

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Nasuada could not bring herself to worry over Galbatorix as of yet. Alyssa did not see much of him, as he did not seek her out, and on the rare occasion both parents were indisposed, Thorn was watching her governess very closely.

It was something, Galbatorix surely knew, they would have done no matter what world they lived in. So he left them be, content to see the child on the rare days her parents deigned it acceptable to bring her with them on whatever duty they were currently fulfilling.

As she grew to be a toddler, he saw her less. From the way her parents complained about the constantly broken state of both child and rooms, he was more than aware she was becoming too much of a handful to bring to dinner, as opposed to the gurgling baby in her mother's lap.

For the first years of her life, Galbatorix and Alyssa met sporadically. Whenever he saw her he would offer her a false smile, and she would show a flash of bright happiness in return. She usually responded well to him, and though his contact with her was watched closely, he would speak with her of trivial matters, worming his way into her head. She would stare up at him with wide, innocent eyes, listening intently. Her cheerful, carefree manner was a welcome distraction to the rest of his palace, but to him it promised ignorance later in life. Optimism.

And his favorite, her childhood personality presented the possibility that she would never see past his lies.

"There used to be thousands of dragons. There were so many they blocked out the sky." He told her, watching the three-year-old at his feet play with a doll in the shape of a lion. She enjoyed it far more than the frilly dolls he'd presented her. Her inclination towards wild and dangerous animals was promising.

Her eyes widened, meeting his without fear. It was the first time she had been generally alone with him. Nasuada was across the room negotiating a trade agreement with representatives of several cities, Murtagh at her side, and Thorn was at the window, keeping a watchful eye on the playing girl at the feet of the king.

Galbatorix had to admire the child's eyes. She was already a beautiful specimen, her skin a shade of caramel, her mother's noble face, high cheekbones and a very convincing neutral expression. What she gained from her mother soothed her father's rough edges, but as she grew Galbatorix began to compare her to Morzan.

Her hair, like her father's, was thick and dark, though like her mother's it shone in the light, like copper and brass. Her lips were perfect for pouting, and her eyes were wide and innocent, her irises bright and her dark pupils contrasting their color into prominence.

Her eyes were a unique mixture of green and silver, green as the last dragon's egg on first glance, but muddled with swirls of startling silver upon further inspection.

Nasuada tried to make her presentable, but Alyssa often found ways to pull her hair down or tear her dress or fall into a mud puddle, so Nasuada had taken to dressing her in boy's clothing, her long, tangled chestnut curls the only indicator otherwise.

With her stuffed lion and pretty eyes and curls bouncing on her shoulders, Galbatorix thought it suited her well.

"Daddy says you hab a dagon." She spoke in a high pitch, as children to, slightly mispronouncing her words, but clear enough to understand and innocent in intent, unafraid to ask such a thing of the king.

Galbatorix nodded, leaning back into his chair. "That I do. You shall meet him one day, I'm sure."

She smiled brightly. "I lub dagons. Dagons are pwetty."

It took Galbatorix a moment to decipher her speech, inwardly groaning and wishing she would outgrow such speech quickly. "Yes, of course." He narrowed his eyes at her, an idea forming in his mind. "You like Thorn?"

She nodded, giggling. "Torn is daddy's bbbeeessssttttest friend. Torn take me fwying. Torn say, he lub me foreeeevvver. Like mommy and daddy!" She waved at Thorn outside the window and giggled when he winked at her, holding her lion close.

Galbatorix let his gaze flick to Nasuada and Murtagh, deep in negotiations, and then to Thorn, who only had eyes for the girl.

The king watched the girl, playing happily with the toy he had given her, her parents so far away and Thorn so close by, and an idea began to form in his mind.

The possibilities of such a child were endless, but surely one of his _minor_ alterations would be useful for this one thing…surely, this one thing would hold the doors of possibility wide open.

Galbatorix's dark eyes studied Alyssa's green.

And then he smiled.


	11. Chapter 10: The Inevitable

**...I am ashamed. I saw the words 'Lady Nightstalker' online, and then it hit me...I had listed Alyssa as getting pale skin from her mother. And then I looked at my reviews, and everyone else noticed too. So now I feel kinda bad. But it's fixed now. Thank you to all the detail nazis who noticed.  
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**Hopefully, the names will appear this time -_- (stupid FF...)**

**TrappedInWonderland:** Thank you! Flowy is totally a word. Spellcheck is just stupid.

**Warrior of the Flock of Music Shines:** It's okay, have you been reading these A/N's? All authors like to ramble.

**Restrained Freedom: **Kids are hilarious. I have a two-year-old cousin who uses 'T' instead of 'S'. It's pretty funny.

**Squidcats: **Thank you. Galby's fun to write. And we'll talk about the rebellion this chapter.

**Franny Mika:** Thanks! My siblings are hilarious and annoying at the same time. That's a good guess. And I wanted her to frustrate him a little, just for fun.

**Thanks to all the reviewers and those who favorited/followed the story - MORE KUDOS!**

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><p><em>Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in the grave.<em>

-Joseph Hall

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Alyssa was eight years old when Galbatorix first summoned her to his presence.

The herald entered the room, intruding upon the family's quiet breakfast, announcing the king's intent in a high, nasally voice.

Murtagh rose from his chair, the legs scraping against the floor. Nasuada did the same, though with much more grace and much less noise, her brow furrowed and eyes blazing with a fury so fierce it matched the anger radiating from every inch of the dragon rider's body.

The herald and his two guards looked to the girl. Murtagh took a step towards her.

Alyssa hopped off her chair lithely, landing on her feet and staring up at the guards in an almost curious, placid manner. In her age she had learned to keep clean and to act as a young lady should, but that certainly didn't stop her from doing as she wished. If she still wished to dress in pants and ride on her father's dragon and jump in puddles, then so be it. Her parents were in no hurry for her to outgrow her innocence in any form.

In the morning hour, she had not had a chance to get into trouble, so she was clean and wearing a simple yellow dress, her curls tangling down her back and her favorite play boots on her feet. She turned to her father, dress swishing around her calves, and blinked sweetly. "I'll go."

Murtagh began to protest, but Nasuada placed her hand on his forearm. "No, love, let her go."

"By _herself_?" He whipped around to face her, fists clenched by his side.

"He will see her no other way." She looked to her daughter and nodded. "Be brave, Lyss. Remember what we told you."

She smiled reassuringly, wrapping her arms around her mother's waist. "I will."

Murtagh sighed when she looked at him, his fingers uncurled and his shoulders relaxed at the sight of her wide eyes. "You'd best be going." He kept his tone carefully controlled.

She wound her hand into his, squeezing tightly. "I love you."

He sighed and smiled, running his fingers down her cheek. "And we love you. Always."

"I will be good." Alyssa assured him, giving his hand a final squeeze before spinning on her heel and clasping her hands before her, eyes innocent and disarming. "Are we to go, now?"

The herald shook his head, blinking in confusion, before nodding. "Well…yes. Come with me, girl."

"All right," She shrugged, following them out of the room.

The door closed with a fateful '_thud_'.

Murtagh growled and threw a plate across the room.

Nasuada's gaze fell to her fingers, twisted together in worry, and remembered for a moment what she had made herself forget.

All she had lost…

But _she_ was the one who asked Galbatorix to keep her in the dark on the Varden. If there was to be fighting, she would not take part in it. She could not. She would hurt her kin. She was safer here, managing Galbatorix's everyday affairs and pretending like she knew nothing of the outside world.

Was it better this way? It had certainly been better for Alyssa, in the beginning. But now….

Now she could remain in the dark, and be ignorant of the madness of the king she served, or in knowing the truth of the world outside, she would become dangerous.

Nasuada put her head in her hands and took a deep breath, steadying herself.

Everything was fine. Murtagh was here, Alyssa was safe, and she remembered nothing. She remembered nothing.

She….

She grasped the chair beside her for support, bending over it and sobbing without tears. She reached for Murtagh's arm when she felt him beside her, digging her nails into his skin. "We cannot keep her in the dark any longer, Murtagh. She must know the truth."

For she had remembered the truth, and the truth was so strong she could not forget again.


	12. Chapter 11: Without Fear

**Now that Thanksgiving holiday is over, I'll try to update once a day, but I don't know how that's gonna work out with finals approaching. Oh, and my review reply button doesn't work, so I have to reply on here.**

**Restrained Freedom:**Thank you. I'm pretty transparent, so your guesses are probably right.

**Luvin'-music: **Thank you! I love that song!

**Warrior of the Flock of Music Shines:** Aww, thank you! And I want to do nothing more than write, but it's not the smartest of career choices. Thus the full time college student.

**NormalityIsNonexistent:** He's evil...he'll do...evil things...**shifty eyes**

**TrappedInWonderland: **I was VERY disappointed with CP's ending. After Galbatorix died, it just went downhill. It almost felt like another author altogether. I did this because I couldn't think of a way to fix it...which is kind of weird for me. I normally go all anal over these things.

**Once again, thank you all for reviewing :)**

**UPDATE: this is a direct continuation of the previous chapter. We have one major time leap to go - very soon - before the chapters will all be continuous/skipping small amounts of time as a book would.  
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><p><em>Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear<em>

-Mark Twain

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She was not afraid.

Why should she have been? The King had been nothing but kind to her. Her parents had warned her – many times – and whatever they kept from her, she knew they kept it for her own good. She trusted her parents.

And in trusting her parents, Alyssa resolved not to trust the king.

But she had to have faith, faith that she would not be harmed, faith that everything would fall into place; faith that Galbatorix really meant to control everything, and would do it through whatever means possible.

And maybe, if she cooperated, he wouldn't hurt her or her family.

She held her chin up. She would be strong. She _was_ strong. She was brave. She would not flinch under his gaze, would not falter in her step, would not shiver at his touch or the sound of his voice. She was invincible.

She knew she wasn't, but it helped to think so.

With the guards at her flank and the herald leading her as if he believed her to be a stray dog – honestly, the mad king had been kinder to her in her rare memories of him – the doors to the throne room opened with a great heave.

Alyssa saw the back of the herald's tunic, heard the doors close behind her, the rustle of the guards' mail behind her. This room was warmer than the others, large and far above her head. She saw gold and black and silver all around her, to each side; the view before her was blocked by the herald.

The herald clacked his tongue against his mouth distastefully. "I have brought forth the child."

Alyssa sighed dramatically.

And a chilling voice laughed. "I see. And which child would that be?"

The herald paused. "I…."

Alyssa shifted her weight to her other foot, groaning inwardly; almost by accident, the words came from her lips, dripping in sarcasm. "Remember how to speak, if you please, or go _away_."

When the herald spun on his heel to face her, she suddenly realized she'd said the words out loud. Her eyebrows rose in surprise at the man's furious expression, but knowing there was no way to take it back, she adjusted the expression to look expectant, crossing her arms for emphasis. "Well? Have you chosen to address a girl before answering your king?"

"She makes a _very_ fine point."

Alyssa felt as if her muscles had frozen her into place.

She dropped her arms to her sides, and as he came into view behind the frightened herald, she met the eyes of the king.

He looked on her with interest, a faint smile touching the ends of his lips. He did not look at the herald as he spoke. "Do as she asks and leave before I change my mind."

The herald hurried from the room.

She held his gaze without fear.

His smile widened in the slightest. "Such a precocious child. Tell me, what should be done with him?"

She treaded carefully, unconsciously biting her lower lip. "Perhaps he should be struck once or twice. It's what happens when I speak proudly."

Galbatorix paced two steps, pursing his lips. "Hm. And who, dear girl, strikes you? Your mother or your father?"

"Mother." She answered immediately, keeping her back straight, her hands clasped in front of her, and her thoughts reigned in.

"And why…" He raised an eyebrow briefly, turning to her with a charming smile. "Do you think that is, Alyssa?"

She thought over her answer several times. "Mother is very smart. She knows that no matter what happens between us, she will always be my mother, and she will always do what is best for me, because she loves me."

"So your mother is the one who punishes you because she will do what is best, no matter if it hurts either of you?" He surmised, watching her closely.

She nodded. "Yes, your majesty."

He smiled. "You're a very smart girl. Perhaps one day when I ask that question, you will consider the other side of the matter." He took several steps towards the throne.

"And what side would that be, King Galbatorix?"

He looked at her, pausing with his back in her direction. "That your father simply cannot bear to harm his child, even if it is for your future prosperity"

She bit her lip again. "What is there to consider about that?" Her wondering aloud had been well-received so far, and Galbatorix seemed almost eager to answer.

He turned to face her completely. "That when asked why it is your mother that punishes you, you consider it because of your mother's virtue, and not your father's fault."

She nodded, understanding. "And it is a fault to put his feelings over my welfare."

He smiled, almost proudly, and sunk into his chair. "Very good. You are much farther along than I had previously guessed."

She dipped her head in respect, speaking slowly. "….Thank you, your majesty."

He laughed. "And such a polite girl too. Come here, girl. Stand where I can see you properly." She took large steps forward, halting with a lurch several feet away from his throne.

He sighed. "That's a girl. Now, answer me this: you still spend much time with your father's dragon, yes?"

She nodded. "Yes, your majesty, I do."

"And you know much of dragons?"

She nodded again. "Yes your majesty."

"And has your father, by any chance, deemed you ready to learn the ancient language?"

She paused. "I…" He smiled at her hesitation, but then she straightened her shoulders and met his eyes again. "I know a little. Thorn says it suits me."

"I imagine so."

She fell silent, unsure of what to do. She would not speak unless she was spoken to. Silence was valued in young ladies.

"Dear girl, don't be so skittish. If it pleases you to know, we are waiting for another, apparently incompetent, messenger. He has a…present for you."

"I am…grateful, though I assure you it is not necessary."

He laughed. "Oh, I'm afraid it is."

The silence was heavy.

The door opened.

Alyssa resisted the urge to peek.

Galbatorix stood, still smiling in a disarming manner. "Don't resist the temptation, dear girl. I have a feeling this belongs to you."

She turned slowly, silver-green eyes widening. When her gaze rested upon her gift, Galbatorix prepared the shackles he would bind her with, lying in wait once again.


	13. Chapter 12: Pact

**I apologize for not updating yesterday...or the day before that...I know I said I'd try once a day, but obviously that didn't work. I had such a long, rainy, terrible weather day Monday, and Tuesday I pretty much slept and was generally lazy. After class today I'll see about writing a second one just to make up for it. For now, this is all I have. Now, to address some interesting questions.**

**Restrained Freedom: **thank you! Alyssa is one of the easiest characters to write. She knows what she's going to do and she does it.

**TrappedInWonderland:** well, other people have already posted guesses, so I suppose there really isn't a point in keeping yours to yourself. I was obvious about it, anyway. As for Alyssa, she's like Murtagh in the sense that she's impatient and very quick to act and temperamental. They tend to say whatever's on their mind, and she was a little miffed at that herald for looking down on her. She's also proud like her mother.

**Warrior of the Flock of Music Shines:** Keep at it! You're doing great. Just keep writing, even if you think it's stupid. Keep it. You'll want it later. And your comment about Alyssa made me feel good, because it means I've created an admirable character and a good protagonist. Which of course makes me happy.

**Booklover1398:** I admire your enthusiasm and indignation, but honey, they're metaphorical shackles (and I used to be a drive-thru cashier in a ghetto fast food restaurant, I have the right to, and frequently, call everyone honey). But he probably would shackle her if he had to. He just chooses to use more refined and harder to resist methods.

**NormalityIsNonexistent and Separate Entity: **I'm obviously not good at secrets, but hey, it's not like I was trying to keep it. And thank you both for reviewing almost every chapter! (NormalityIsNonexistent, I think you reviewed all of them!)

**Franny Mika:** I was unconsciously making up for the two days I just missed -_- anyway, from the point where the guards come for Alyssa until the end of this chapter is a direct continuation, which I will start doing every time after the next (and last) time jump - which I'm anticipating will be in the next two or three chapters at most. I'm also anticipating that it will be the last time jump, unless a certain fiery OC decides she wants another time jump, which I doubt. So she is 8 in all three of these chapters.

**Thank you all for reviewing, favoriting, and following! I hope this clears the air when it comes to the general situation that they're going to be in.**

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><p><em>If you don't have any fight in you, you might as well be dead.<em>

-Scott Caan

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Thorn landed with a loud snort of displeasure, settling down into the ground in front of his pacing rider with an odd calmness. _All right, what is troubling you now? I cannot make anything of your thoughts._

Murtagh whirled on his heel, gritting his teeth and glaring at his dragon as something flew past Thorn's head. The dragon was used to his rider's tendency to throw objects when angry and didn't take it personally. _You should have been here!_

_ Should I have? Funny, I was under the impression I was allowed to eat_.

Murtagh growled. _No, it's _not_ funny, Thorn._

_ Why don't you just tell me what's wrong, then after you ignore my advice I'll call Nasuada to calm you down_

Something akin to guilt flashed in Murtagh's eyes. _Nasuada…she needs to stay where she is._

_ And where is she?_ Thorn asked patiently.

_In our rooms, waiting on Alyssa to return._

Thorn straightened. _Galbatorix has called her?_

Something else whizzed by Thorn's head. It was all the answer he needed.

_Murtagh, you must calm yourself. This is what he wants._

_ He _wants _her!_

_ He wants to use everyone, but he especially wants her because in using her, he will control you, me, and Nasuada. He only needs control a child, and he has a dragon, a rider, and the leader of the Varden in his pocket. We need not let this affect us. If we do, surely Alagaesia and Alyssa are lost._

His dragon's words calmed him, and Murtagh stopped pacing, instead choosing to sink onto a bench with his head in his hands. _Thorn_. The dragon snorted quietly, mingling his mind with that of his rider, trying to keep him from sinking into the agony the child had saved him from.

On the edges of their mind, something flickered, calling tentatively. _Murtagh, she is safe._

Murtagh stiffened, but did not move, following his dragon's mind to see where his attention was directed.

_Thorn?_

A deep, satisfied rumble echoed from the dragon's chest. He had been the one to teach her such things – Murtagh was an impatient teacher – and he was proud to see her confidence in her ability. _Hello, little one. You are unharmed?_

_ Yes_.

Murtagh suddenly jumped up, relief spreading across his features. _You are on your way to your mother?_

She let something through her crude mental barriers; a burst of emotion…fear? Uncertainty? It could be any number of things. _You are not with her?_

_ I'm with Thorn. Where are you?_ Murtagh entered her mind, searching the hallways. _I see you. I'm on my way._

Murtagh placed a hand on Thorn's leg before running to intercept her.

Thorn felt relief coming from the girl. Murtagh stayed in contact, but to his surprise, Alyssa's mind slipped under her father's to contact Thorn. _Thorn?_

_ Yes, little one? _He kept the conversation away from Murtagh's attention, which wasn't difficult in his current state of mind.

_Please keep daddy calm. He'll be angry._

_ Angry about what?_

She sighed. _Galbatorix had me touch the dragon egg._

_ And did it crack?_

_ No, but doesn't it take a few days?_

_ Most often. I'm simply checking. _He paused. _But that is not what you want to keep from him, is it?_

Murtagh was close to her. She had to answer quickly.

_I wasn't scared._

Her words held a weight he was surprised to find in the girl. _You should have been._

_ But I wasn't…I don't want to be like these people, Thorn. Unafraid. Happy when he praises them._

Her memories flooded his mind, full of uncertainty and confidence, faith, and even fear, despite what she said. But fear, he found, was not of Galbatorix but of her own fate, of what she would become.

_Calm, little one. Your father is near. Let your parents comfort you._

_ Must I tell them?_

_ I would advise it. I cannot keep much secret from your father._

_ …Could you?_

_ I will._

She sounded almost shaky with gratitude. _Thank you._

Murtagh arrived and swept her up into his arms, the pure fury in his every movement leaving her guards speechless and still. Thorn felt the relief from both of them, and again was grateful for the nature of the bond between them. Murtagh did not need to know her hurts to soothe them, and Thorn was that part of him. The part that eased her mind, while Murtagh eased her pain.

Sensing their progress, Thorn leapt from the ground, gliding around the side of the palace until he arrived at the large window to their rooms, left open for his return, probably. He could see Nasuada through the window.

_Nasuada_. She stood, eyes questioning and fist clenched by her side. _She is unharmed. Murtagh is bringing her back._

She sighed, placing a hand on her chair for support. "Thank the Gods."

The door opened, and Nasuada immediately swept over to it, arms held out for the girl huddled in Murtagh's arms. "I'm okay," Alyssa assured her, grasping her mother's neck as Nasuada wrapped her arms tightly around the girl, kissing her forehead.

"Of course you are. You're very strong." Nasuada released her, her hand on the side of her face and staring as if she was looking for injuries. Alyssa waited patiently, one arm wrapped around Murtagh's neck as her mother's concerns began to ease. "What did he wish?"

Alyssa frowned and her brow narrowed. Her knuckles turned white with the force she clenched the fabric at Murtagh's neck, her other hand grasping for her mother's. "He wanted me to touch the egg."

"And what happened?" Nasuada prompted gently.

Alyssa let out a breath. "Nothing."

Nasuada pursed her lips. "But something could happen." Her eyes sought Murtagh's. "We should have prepared for this sooner."

Murtagh held their daughter closer. "But what are we supposed to do? If it hatches for her, she will be just like I was."

"Perhaps we can get her away, somehow."

_Almost impossible. A dragon is difficult to hide, and we do not know where the Varden retreated to, or even if Eragon was able to keep them together._ Thorn pointed out.

"That's a good thing." Nasuada admitted. "It means Galbatorix doesn't know. I can probably think of several places they would be. Right now they aren't a threat to him, but they will be if she runs to them."

"So what can we do?" Murtagh demanded.

Nasuada looked to her nervous daughter with a sigh, squeezing her hand. "We let fate unravel, and we cooperate. She is not strong enough to learn to fight, so we have a little more time."

_We are not proud of the things we have done._ Thorn directed his gaze to the girl. _And I do not relish the thought of the little ones being used to such extent._

Nasuada straightened. "We will do what we have to. And if that involves being the punisher to show mercy to the punished, then that is what we will do."

"Nasuada,-"

"Murtagh, if we can do more good here, then why shouldn't we? Until we can find a way to escape, then we can do nothing else."

All three gazes were drawn to the girl, leaning against her father as if he could protect her from the world. She nodded in the slightest, as much as she could with her head on her father's shoulder. "I'll be good."

Murtagh kissed her head, and Nasuada gripped the girl's hand, using her other hand to run her fingers down the girl's cheek. "I know you will, dear."

_You will not lose yourself._ Thorn assured her privately. _Nor will your dragon, should he choose you. I will make sure of it._

She touched his consciousness briefly, holding on to him as she held on to her parents, begging them to stay close, stay with _her_. Thorn knew it would get no better. She would need them more.

He opened up his mind to Murtagh and Nasuada, mingling with the three of them until the family was tied together, saying nothing but content to simply be in each other's presence.

_We will be strong_. Thorn assured them. _We will _all_ survive._

Thorn wasn't sure he'd ever felt as proud of another person as he did when Alyssa's confidence mixed with his own.

She had to have faith in this. There was nothing else to have faith in, except for the emotions that tied them together.


	14. Chapter 13: Return

**I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE FOR THE LONG A/N. READ ONLY THE SECTIONS THAT PERTAIN TO YOU.**

**NEW UPDATING SCHEDULE: **I'm going to try and update every other day, so I can have some time for things that come up. Unfortunately, I can't say when my next one will be, because I don't have my work schedule yet.

**REVIEW REPLIES (because my reply button STILL doesn't work…curse you, FF!)**

**Warrior of the Flock of Music Shines:** Your reviews make me happy This fic is an exercise in empathy, because the female protagonist in the original story I'm working on is being kind of bratty right now…sometimes if I leave them alone for a while my characters get jealous and start cooperating. (And people wonder why my mother thinks I need my head checked out…)

**NormalityIsNonexistent:** Unfortunately, leaving the dragon unhatched (It's a word, danggit, spellcheck!) would be very boring plot-wise.

**Restrained Freedom:** Well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right? :o

**Luvin'-Music:** Thanks! And it's fine, it took me two days to update…and two more days this time…so yeah. And he's evil like that :P

**Franny Mika:** Thank you! I love Thorn. CP did not write him enough. And as for your confusion, I do see how the wording isn't clear. I went back and altered it.

**Booklover1398:** Aren't they just precious? There will be many more.

**Many kudos to you reviewers and followers!**

**DISCLAIMER: **Cause it's been forever since I've had one. I own the storyline, Alyssa, Valbadan, Alard, Galvin, and Zain. Christopher Paolini owns everything else.

**ABOUT THIS CHAPTER: **This chapters takes place in the past. It's a recap on what happened from the battle of Uru'Baen (the day Nasuada swore fealty) onward. It's longer than the others (four pages by Microsoft word's count), thus why it took so long. Of course, it would have been much faster if a _certain protagonist_ wasn't being so moody and difficult **throws rotten vegetables at Eragon**

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><p><em>If you think you can do a thing or think you can't do a thing, you're right<em>

-Henry Ford

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The Varden marched alone.

Without Nasuada, the battle of Uru'Baen was next to hopeless. While the leader was recovering from her torture, Murtagh committed another act of treason.

Thorn landed with a _crack_ atop a tall building, roaring to ward off the soldiers on the ground below. Saphira dipped, angling to land on a building across from them. _Saphira, we can't fight them! We don't have time! _Eragon growled.

_Thorn has promised their intentions are simple. They claim to know of Nasuada. _The memory of the conversation, a muddle of feelings and images, was pushed from her mind to his. _If they know anything else of value, perhaps they may tell us._

_ Perhaps they'll be lying_.

_And perhaps not. _Ever the optimist, Eragon sighed, abandoning his resistance to glare fiercely at his half-brother.

Murtagh looked worse than ever. The rings under his eyes were large and purple, and there was a fresh scar on his cheek. He seemed to barely be sitting straight. "Eragon."

"What is it you want?" He snapped.

"She swore this morning."

Eragon froze. She couldn't have. She wouldn't have. Not Nasuada…

"I…it's my fault." Murtagh looked down. "I'll say nothing more of it."

_This doesn't change our plan_. Eragon told Saphira privately.

_It still changes much._

"I'm going to ask you once." Murtagh met his gaze again, dark eyes hard and black against his pale skin. "Don't make her fight her own. Try all you like, but if this begins to fail I will not fight for you."

"I never expected you too."

Murtagh sighed again, voice dropping. "I know you don't think much of me. But this is for her good. If this is doomed to fail, I will not have her die fighting those she used to fight for. We will do what we can, but we will not risk our lives more than necessary."

Murtagh's words were fateful.

When they neared the end of the hallway littered with traps, several guards brought Nasuada's limp form through the doors, sneeringg. She was unconscious.

Eragon and his dwindling party halted.

Elva screamed.

Eragon didn't know who survived.

There were shouts, screams, and coughing. Smoke billowed everywhere, the ground beneath them shook. Eragon began grabbing for nearby allies, pushing them toward the entrance.

Light from cracks in the ceiling and the sound of tumbling stone alerted them to the imminent collapse of the hall.

Someone grabbed his wrist. He couldn't tell who. It felt like every part of him was numb as he coughed and tried to find Saphira's glittering scales in the chaos. Finally, his other hand found her, and he helped the limping figure beside him onto the dragon's back. The ground cracked, and everything sloped downward.

Eragon grabbed the straps on Saphira's saddle that normally held his legs in place, and she leapt into the air, leaving him hanging beside her and attempting to climb onto her back.

Below him, he saw several figures slip into the gorge, and prayed to several Gods that they were Galbatorix's guards and not Nasuada or Elva, or the spellcasters, or…

Someone grabbed his arm and began to pull him up.

With the elf's help, he managed to seat himself in the saddle, turning to his companion with sad eyes. It was one of the spellcasters, a particularly silent man by the name of Valbadan. "I saw several escape." He said. "Surely, Arya Drottning was among them." Ah. An elf who attempted comfort – which wasn't as strange when Eragon remembered Valbadan was one of the younger elves, having been in the Varden almost all of his life.

So they tried to regroup.

They retreated for days, with no contact or more than brief pauses, Galbatorix's army on their tails. Finally, they, too, retreated, back into the depths of Uru'Baen, leaving the Varden to rest and count their dead and missing for the first time in three days.

Eragon landed, slipping off Saphira after Valbadan. The elf had been surprisingly pleasant company, rational and with a simple view of things. He was very open – for what had he to hide, he shrugged his shoulders and continued their conversation – and was willing to talk about nothing to soothe the dragon and rider's restlessness.

Valbadan frowned as he landed on the ground, straightening his shoulders and attempting to keep upright on the ankle he'd injured in the collapse. Both he and Eragon had cast minor healing spells, but they were both so exhausted the majority of the damage remained. "It has been far too long since I have walked on land." He placed a hand on Saphira's flank. "And a much harder flight for you, _Bjartskular. _Thank you."

Saphira snorted, attempting to sound tired and frustrated but unable to cover up her liking for the elf – like all elves, he held her in extremely high standards. _I do not wish to leave the ground for several days. And I will eat anyone who asks me to do otherwise._

Valbadan offered her a small smile. "Then I will see to it that you are left alone."

_Thank you. You are very kind._

Eragon offered the spellcaster his shoulder, but the elf shook his head. "I am fine. We must set up a command tent so you may assess the damage."

At least someone had their priorities in order.

Eragon found that Jormundur had already set up the tent and was attempting to reign in the crowds.

"The possibility of reaching the tent with all our faculties looks to be slim."

Eragon arched an eyebrow at Valbadan.

He looked slightly sheepish. "Is that not sarcasm?"

Eragon blinked, still a little stunned. "No, that's sarcasm."

"Did I misplace a word? Your expression is quite strange."

"…No, I'm just…not used to elves using…_sarcasm_."

"I was attempting to lighten your mood. You will need much endurance to repair the damage sustained at Uru'Baen."

Eragon took a deep breath. "Thanks." And then he plunged into the crowd, somehow managing to reach Jormundur within seconds. The commander looked relieved. "Shadeslayer, you've arrived. The most pressing matters are men and food. We have not catalogued the missing, nor do we have enough supplies to see us to even the week's end."

Eragon nodded. "Let's get to work then, shall we?"

Hearing reports of the dead and missing was both a great strain and a great relief to Eragon. Every name of the fallen brought him closer to despair, and every name of the survivors lifted some of the burden off his shoulders. He hadn't failed everyone.

The person he feared failing most was Roran.

Orik and Nar Garzhvog arrived at the command tent, and a messenger reported that Orrin was badly injured, but would survive. Trianna arrived, and Eragon felt like bursting when one of the spellcasters guarding him – another serious man, an older elf named Alard – made his way to the tent, injured but well.

And still, Roran was nowhere to be found.

Arya, Blodgharm, and Elva were missing, and the last time Baldor saw his brother and father, they were with Roran. Aside from Alard, all the spellcasters were missing.

Valbaden cheered up in the slightest when Alard appeared, speaking in the quick, quiet way elves do when speaking to each other, but nothing could lift the veil of sorrow hanging over their race, evident in their subdued manners and solemn expressions.

Queen Islanzadi was dead.

Eragon heard several colorful recounts of the event, and all said the same thing: the Queen fought bravely, the Varden lost a trusted ally, and the Elves a beloved Queen. Valbaden and Alard stayed by Eragon's side, despite this, but it was clear they were disturbed by her death, and the missing princess certainly didn't help their moods.

Only once did Eragon feel reduced to tears, and that was two days after they made camp, when a guard's voice rang out in the early morning.

Eragon jumped up and threw a shirt over his head, grabbing Brisingr and jumping out of his tent.

He froze.

Roran laughed. "Did we wake you, sleeping beauty?"

Eragon was too happy to see him to scowl. "You idiot. You look like you've been through hell and back."

Roran shrugged. "The next time someone tells me to take a trip, I can tell them where to get the best ale."

Eragon laughed and practically tackled his cousin, and the two embraced for a long moment. "You're an idiot." Eragon repeated.

"And so are you." Roran pushed him away. Eragon noticed he was favoring his right side.

"Let me heal that."

Roran shook his head. "Your energies are needed elsewhere." He stepped back, gesturing to a tent surrounded by people. Someone was yelling. "The trip took a heavy toll on Elva. She isn't well. The rest of us are more or less fine, but I was worried she would lose her mind before we reached you."

Eragon slipped through the crowd and into the tent, unsure of Roran was following.

Angela and Trianna were standing over the writhing girl, held to a cot by several sets of determined hands. "Keep her still!" Trianna snapped.

Albriech grunted, attempting to keep her arm from connecting with his bruised face. "Easier said that done."

"Here," Eragon pressed against the side of the cot, throwing his whole mind into Trianna and Angela's spells. Her madness was great, a cacophony of pain and suffering, blurred into one massive tangle of fear and hate.

Eventually, they managed to calm her into sleep, chasing the horrors into the far corner of her mind. Trianna slumped, exhausted, against the cot, sitting beside the girl and thanking the woman who had brought them water.

Angela waved the glass away and huffed, wiping a hand across the back of her forehead. "Where did you go, back in to Uru'Baen?" Angela demanded, arching an eyebrow at Albriech.

He looked a little flustered under the herbalist's gaze; he was just as bruised and weary as Roran, though, like the commander, seemed to be mostly intact. "We got caught between some walls, me, Roran, and father, and then the others found us and we escaped. We were caught in the bulk of his army, so we had to go wide, through the forest, instead of following you directly." He paused. "That's the short version. I'm rather glad to be back, honestly."

Eragon nodded. "I'm sure you are. Why don't you all go rest? You can tell us about it after you've slept."

Albriech nodded and stood straight, wincing at the cracking of his bones. "That's one order I'll be glad to follow. I'll tell the others."

Eragon looked to Trianna and Angela, both obviously tired from bringing the now sleeping Elva back from the brink of insanity. "Roran said they don't have any serious wounds, but I'm not inclined to take him entirely at his word. Would you assist me?"

Angela nodded, rolling up her sleeves. "I've heard too many stories of your cousin walking around with severe injuries. He's not getting away from _me_." Eragon smiled. If anyone could get his cousin to sit still, it would be Angela.

Trianna stood, nodding as well. "I am tired, but I can stand to heal a few more wounds. Between your two guards and Du Vrangr Gata, surely most of them have been healed or sent away."

As she had said, when they exited the tent, only Roran and Albriech remained, looking up at the trio's approach. "Everyone else has already retired." Albriech explained. "Two of your guard and a member of Du Vrangr Gata healed the worst of it."

Suddenly, Angela's hand shot out from behind Eragon, grabbing Roran's wrist and pulling him closer to her. He struggled briefly, but then her other hand was on his bruised rib and he froze. "Stop being so noble, Roran Stronghammer. You have a family to look after too."

He sighed as she let go of him. "Thank you."

She nodded briskly. "Go to your wife, and then go to sleep."

He flashed Eragon a bright grin before doing so, and then Albriech dipped his head and left too. Trianna sighed. "If you don't mind, I'll be retiring too."

As she left, Angela turned to Eragon. "You'd best be off as well."

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck where a throbbing pain had settled. "I have to go tell Saphira the news."

He made his way back to his tent, and behind it sat Saphira, alert and waiting for him. _Have you been told? _He asked, letting her examine his memories.

_Some. Our guard was kind enough to indulge me before retiring. Many of them have returned._

_ Good._ Eragon felt better knowing they were safe. Or, at least, most of them. _Which ones?_

_ Blodgharm, Yaela, Galvin, and Zain. Invidia was the only other to escape Uru'Baen with them, but she was lost on the journey here. _She hesitated, obviously wanting to say more.

_So Blodgharm, Yaela, Galvin, Zain, Roran, Albriech, and Elva._ Eragon counted. _That's good to recover so many. What else did they tell you?_

_ The villager Horst survived with them._ She began. _And Arya. _

Eragon let out a breath he'd been holding for days. _Did you speak to her?_

_ I did not see her._ Saphira sounded rather disappointed. _Or Zain. Galvin said the two of them had overtaxed themselves healing your cousin. It was quite a serious injury._

Eragon sighed. Roran…

_But they are safe. _

He nodded, sighing again, this time in relief instead of mild frustration. _Yes. We are all safe._

_ For the time being._

Saphira didn't bother to respond to the dismal thought.

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><p><strong>Whew…finally finished. Eragon is so moody. More Varden in the next chapter! Anyway, I love you readers, keep reading and being awesome!<strong>


	15. Chapter 14: What Must Be Done

**I feel like I might asphyxiate right now. Why, you ask? Well, the ever-awesome Franny Mika left an unsigned review with a concern I will address below, but that review put this story at _FIFTY REVIEWS!_**

**Yes, people, we've hit FIFTY, and I am ELATED. You reviewers and readers are so awesome, you ALL deserve mega-size kudos, and even that wouldn't be enough. Thank you for your constructive comments and for just being awesome.  
><strong>

**Now, several people have asked what time the last chapter was set in, and I apologize for the confusion, I'll try to be clearer on my times from now on. The last chapter is a recap of the Varden's activities right after Nasuada swore (which I have updated the previous chapter to state) and this is a continuation of that history. Next chapter should be back on track to normal time.  
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**Thank you all for reviewing, favoriting, following, and reading!  
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><p><em>A man who wants to lead the orchestra must turn his back to the crowd.<em>

-_Max Lucado_

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It was only a matter of time, he knew, before the Varden fell apart. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach only grew worse with time, and before long he had to accept what it meant. No matter how hard he tried, they were bound to break. They were starving, low on supplies, men, and optimism, and Eragon had no idea how to fix it.

So he resigned himself to fail with as much grace and dignity as he could muster – a goal that was increasingly difficult due to the temperament of one King Orrin of Surda.

Having already drunk himself into an even more unreasonable state on the morning beginning the third week of the Varden's journey from Uru'Baen, Orrin moved on to other unpleasant activities, namely frustrating Eragon to the ends of Alagaesia.

For what seemed like the millionth time during their meeting, Orrin slammed his wine onto the table in anger. "I will not repeat myself, Eragon! The Varden may _not_ occupy Surda-"

Eragon growled, spinning to face the King and forgoing all semblance of respect. "I am not overly fond of repeating myself, either, Orrin, and this is the last time I will tell you we are _not_ going to _occupy_ your country. We are simply asking for the opportunity to live and work in your city. To have _lives_. It's only a matter of time before Galbatorix sets his sights on you, whether we're there or not, and wouldn't you rather have the _only_ free dragon and leader of the _only_ rebel force in all of Alagaesia within your reach?" Eragon placed his hands on the table, his knuckles white with the force which he clenched the wood, arching his back as he leaned in toward the king, forgoing his attempts to be intimidating in favor of sheer anger.

Orrin glared.

Eragon glared back.

Arya stood in the corner of the tent, silently observing the King and Rider staring each other down. Eragon was doing well enough, and until she had something of use to say, she would not speak lest it hinder the 'aggressive negotiations'.

Jormundur was obviously worn out from dealing with the drunken King, slumped in a chair rubbing his temple with two fingers and wondering if he should take the chance to nap. Orik had actually fallen asleep, and was drooped over the arm of his chair, having given up on reasoning with Orrin, telling Jormunder to wake him "When Eragon needs my axe in somethin'."

Nar Garzhvog did not bother with such meetings, trusting Eragon to inform him if anything of importance was discussed. Arya had not been present at most of the meetings, having been in constant contact with her people on the subject of the new leader of their race. As far as Eragon knew, she was still favored, but he didn't know how she felt about it, or even if she wanted it. Her blank, somewhat worried expression had not changed since she returned with Roran, Blodgharm, Elva, and the others.

It was Orik who broke the battle of wills between the two stubborn men, waking up with a conveniently loud snore. "What'd I miss?" Eragon was more than positive the king of the dwarves was slurring his obnoxiously loud words on purpose.

"Eragon's being unreasonable." Orrin said it as if it was casual, lifting his wine to his mouth again.

Finally, Eragon lost it.

He slapped the wine out of his hand and watched as it streamed across the ground, staining the dirt and grass red. "Jormundur, it would bring me the utmost _pleasure_ if you would place the strong liquor out of Orrin's reach."

The King stared at the ground and then up at the rider, face red, his chair flying back as he abruptly stood to face the young man.

Eragon gave him no chance to protest. "You are the king of the only land in Alagaesia where our race can be _free_, and you are drinking yourself into a stupor because of your injured _pride_. Galbatorix is dangerous, and he doesn't care about you or your pride or your people – in fact, if he were here, your actions and your attitude would _please_ him. Acting like…like _this_," He gestured to the spilled wine. "Is why we believe we are losing, why he believes he is winning." Eragon paced to the entrance to the tent and paused there, glaring over his shoulder at the king. "We will be victorious when we stand for the beliefs that created this alliance instead of acting like the very things we oppose."

With that Eragon stormed out of the tent and to his own, wishing he could throw something but attempting to reign in his anger. Saphira was hunting, and he couldn't have wished harder for her swift return.

He didn't even realize someone had entered his tent until a hand clenched around his arm and a voice spoke his name softly.

He tensed for a moment before relaxing under the touch, sighing as he turned around. "I know I shouldn't have lost my temper."

Arya nodded, her hand falling away from him. "I understand your frustration, though I am curious to know if your tactics will work."

Eragon raised his hands in frustration and fell onto his cot. "I don't _know_. Personally, I don't _care_. I'm asking Orrin to help us _scatter_."

She kept her expression blank as she shrugged. "Orrin will see reason."

He looked up at her, shoulders hunched under her black cloak, looking thinner and more worried than ever. "But that doesn't change the fact that this is over. All we've done…"

She drew her gaze away and did not answer.

"You're changing, you know." It was a simple statement. She straightened, staring at him with more awareness than he'd seen since her return. "You barely speak, you barely move. You stare into space like none of us are there. Would to _talk_ to me, please? I'm not asking for anything grand. Just…tell me what's going on with your people. With _you_. We've been through too much together for you to leave me now."

She kept her gaze downward and sighed. "Nothing, Eragon. Words spill from their lips and spin in circles until not a single person knows what was being discussed or why it is being discussed. It takes time, time that I am not eager to let pass. Not with…recent events."

"Do most still wish for you to be queen?" She nodded, silent. "And do _you_ wish to be queen?"

She had asked herself that several times. "It would be best."

Eragon sighed. "That wasn't what I asked. I want to know that when this is all over, _you_ will be…happy."

Arya sat beside him and wrung her hands. "I will."

"You don't sound very confident."

"I _will._" She looked up at him. "And you will. And someday, Galbatorix will fall, and Alagaesia will be happy with us."

Eragon dropped his volume, acutely aware of both her closeness and her distance. "Someday sounds very far away."

"Someday will come on its own." She sat straighter. "We cannot hurry fate, Eragon. Nor can we change it."

"And if it's fate for Galbatorix to _win_?" Eragon snapped. "Will you not challenge that?"

"I will try with every ounce of my being." She declared. "As will we all, as we have done since the beginning. Fate is not for us to know – so why do you act as if we should know if something is to be certain?"

Eragon narrowed his eyebrows, standing. "And why do you act as if it is not?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "Fate will do what it wishes. Leave fate to its own devices and do what is best, for there is no way for you to know what it plans."  
>"I will change fate." He said firmly. "If it wishes to stop us."<p>

She stood as well, sighing as she arched an eyebrow. "For your own sake, I hope you are not referring to the 'us' that does not exist."

She breezed out of his life again.

Eragon sighed, falling to his cot again and speaking to himself as if it could change anything. "And yet you just admitted it did."

.

.

.

It was not her words alone that swayed him, but the collective whole of those he cared about, speaking at different times and of different things that somehow all related to the decision he would ultimately have to make.

After his talks with Orrin, Jormundur, and Orik, his briefings with Nar Garzhvog, and discussion with Arya, Eragon was still in need of closure, of something that was unknown but he knew he wanted more than anything else.

Roran was the next to approach him.

He entered the tent almost warily, but it was clear he had no reservations about entering his cousin's tent unannounced. "Cousin,"

Eragon looked up, frowning. "Cousin. What is it?"

Roran sighed and sat down on a chest, sighing. "I thought it best you were the first person to know our intentions."

"You and Katrina?"

He nodded. "Aye. She wanted to take the child and go somewhere safe, should it be necessary, but with what happened…it's best if we go together. We aren't the only ones thinking such, Eragon."

"Roran-"

His cousin stopped him before he could continue. "Eragon, we all know of your dealings with King Orrin, and we intend to take advantage of it, when he regains his senses. Carvahall might not be present anymore, but we cannot simply forget who we are. We belong together, and we will stay together. No one wants to abandon you, cousin, but we all know you will not come with us."

Eragon sighed and looked down. "I don't know what I'll do."

"Then come to Surda with us. With your village – your _family_. Be an uncle. Be a cousin. And when Galbatorix decides to make his move, be a warrior, because when he does we will not stand idle and we will not run away. We never have before." Eragon met his cousin's eyes. Roran was just as determined as ever. "We will rebuild. Galbatorix will not be expecting such a fight, but he's going to get one. We will fight and we will _win_ and we will be strong again. But things take time, time that will feel infinite. You just have to hold on long enough. Let us help you."

"Thank you, Roran. I'll think on it."

He smiled brightly, one of his wild, brazen smiles that instilled allies the highest of confidence and enemies the deadliest of fear. "Do more than think, cousin. Indecision never won anyone anything."

After Roran left, it seemed everyone he loved wished to speak with him, to convince him to continue to be a part of their lives, to stay strong.

Albriech claimed to be stopping by to inform him of the villager's plans, declaring that his little sister would be raised in as much comfort as possible, and when the time came, they would fight for her once again.

Elva came afterward, obviously still feeling the aftereffects of her journey but otherwise well, insisting that he would get nothing done if he did not have patience and tact, the former of which he was severely lacking. He could tell she meant well by it, somewhere deep in her being.

Orik spoke to him, trying to sway him into staying with the dwarves, and, if he couldn't do that, to stay with his family, with his people, where he was needed. Orik's talks were always short and to the point.

Next was Galvin, one of his guards who had returned with Roran, one of the few guards remaining, all of which had become increasingly talkative and supportive. He was sure that Arya would not make them leave him, and they would not ask to do so.

"We have been speaking of your fate, Eragon Shadeslayer. It is not our place to decide your course of action, but we are of one mind. Blodgharm is of the opinion that you need to make your own choices, and I agree, to a point." Galvin locked his attention onto Eragon and the rider couldn't pull away. "Assistance does not harm one, nor does friendly advice. Know what it is you want, Eragon, and do it. Indecision is the greatest of foes and its power is hard to draw away from. You know what is best, and we will follow you wherever you go. Our Queen will not oppose it."

"So they've decided? Arya is Queen?"

Galvin smiled briefly. "Officially, no, but there is not one among our people who doubts her fate." He stood. "Arya Drottning has sealed her fate. Yours is still open – tread carefully."

When Saphira returned at dusk, Eragon was finally alone.

_Something has happened._ She commented. _You are worried, little one._

_ Much has happened._

_ Show me._

He did.

_So this is how it is to be?_

_ Yes._

_ Then so be it._ She sighed. _I will miss this place, Eragon. This place that was never the same place, but always the same._

_ I understand. _He paused. _The Varden will survive in the shadows, waiting, and one day…_

A growl rose deep in Saphira's chest. _We will pounce._


	16. Chapter 15: The Other Side

***sighs* I, again, must apologize for my lack of updating. It just occurred to me that it's been five days since I updated. Monday was my last day of class, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday I was working, and today I had two finals, one of which I BARELY passed. And now that I have some free time, I shall attend to this story first. All my neglected original characters are starting to get jealous.**

**Because I posted so late, there are TWO new chapters. Yes, two, so if the second one isn't up, then FF is being stupid and not letting me post it.**

**Franny Mika, since your review is unsigned, you get a reply in my A/N, and I say thank you very much for your awesome review, and I also toast with lemonade, because I'm underage too. **

**Now, for the chapter. Hopefully it doesn't suck as much as my morning did.**

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><p><em>A man who won't die for something is not fit to live.<em>

-Martin Luther King, Jr

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Metal ground against metal, chains rattled along the stone floor, cold beneath his feet. Something jabbed him from behind, and he arched his back, gritting his teeth and keeping his moan of pain to himself. It wouldn't do to have them see how much it hurt.

Because of the haze settling over his mind, he couldn't remember if he had already or not.

Suddenly, a mail-covered hand was shoving him to the chilly floor, and his knees collided with the stone, the jarring impact awakening his senses enough so he could plant his hands on the floor before his head cracked against the rock.

Laughing behind him, the guards pushed the heavy iron bars back into place with a terrible scratching of metal on the rock, and, finally, he was left alone with his misery, dropping to the floor on his shoulder with a low moan of agony.

He lay in the floor, unable to move, trying to calm himself into a coherent state of mind so he could catalog his injuries. He made no attempt to reach outside of the bars or to move from the spot he'd collapsed in, drifting in and out of distressed slumber and trying to regain as much strength as he could.

It hadn't been long, when someone approached his prison. He looked up, finding the strength to sit up fully when he realized the newcomer was only a girl.

Her manner was tense, her muscles coiled as if ready to run at any moment, her expression almost blank, showing a rare amount of emotion as if ready to hide at any moment. She was sweaty and dirty from work, her skin darkened into a deep brown, her long brown hair curling at the ends that rested midway down her back. Her manner was not shy or hesitant but rather reserved, in her own world, doing what she needed and moving on. She was still young, but there was not a man alive who would call her a child; her features were of smooth angles, graceful and pleasing to look upon. To his eyes, she could not have been more than seventeen years of age: a child, in a different sense.

She bent in front of the bars, sliding a plate beneath the one space tall enough to do so. He caught it, on his knees before her, meeting her startled eyes. "Thank you." He said, as she passed a small cup though the bars. She stiffened, curling her fingers away from him when he reached for the cup, as if he was contagious. "I won't hurt you."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "No, you're far too weak for that."

"The Varden aren't weak, girl. Whatever Galbatorix has promised you-"

Suddenly, she stood, her anger so vibrant it stunned him into silence. "He has promised me a life of _pain_ and _anguish_. You have been leading the Varden since before I was born, and what have you done with it? _Nothing_. You retreated and you scattered and you never grew, you never came back. Therefore you are weak."

She roused his temper. Her words were unjust, unknowing. She couldn't have known. "We had no other choice!" He argued. "You serve and you do what you're asked and you can escape punishment. You do not know what it's like to rebel."

He blinked in surprise as something flashed by him; he had narrowly missed the kick she aimed through the bars. "You know _nothing_!" She growled, her voice echoing down the halls. She grabbed the bars and stared at him as he stood to face her, and though he was taller and stronger her fury was boiling so fiercely it was hard to match. "My entire _life_ is his tool, my presence a death sentence. I was not sent here to serve you but to witness with my own eyes what a pathetic existence you have led, and I must agree with him." She pressed against the bars, glaring, as he took hold of the iron above her hands.

She did not flinch under his gaze. "Galbatorix did not lie when he told me you were too weak to lead the Varden. Time and time again, those of us who wish for freedom have offered you chances, managed to send a single phrase on a piece of parchment, slip an anonymous tip to a foreign merchant, _anything_ to let you in. We have planned and we have waited, and time and time again, you never came. You abandoned Alagaesia, and I will not pretend otherwise for the sake of your _pride_!" She spat, stepping back and glaring, like a crouching tiger cloaked in the darkness, the silver sparks in her eyes standing out amongst the shadows.

"You are young and foolish," He told her. "True pain is to have no options, to do _nothing_ in the face of defeat, and when you cannot do anything else. Keep hiding in the shadows and faking your loyalty, it will keep you safe."

She laughed, the sound hollow and sending a chill through him. It reminded him far too much of the mad king they spoke of. "Oh, Eragon," She practically spat his name. "Shur'Tugal, I do not deliver to the beaten," She stepped onto the bottom bar to match his height, her feet between the bars, not bothering to lower her voice more than a notch. "I am the one who delivers the beatings."

With that, she stepped down, sauntering out of the room as she called over her shoulder. "The chains on your limbs are not the only things that bind, Eragon Shadeslayer. There are far worse things than death." She stopped in the doorway, her fingers clasping the edge of the stone and her heels against the bottom, leaning back until she seemed to hang off the side of the wall, her curls swaying behind her as an almost sadistic smile played across her lips. "If you ever wish a to hear of those things, you may ask anyone in this city, and among every tale of suffering in this world, they will choose to recount the life of Alyssa Drottningu zar'roc."

Princess of misery.

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><p><strong>This IS our last time skip, and, as described when she first entered the room, she is around seventeen here.<strong>


	17. Chapter 16: To Love is Death

**The translations for the ancient language are mostly in the text, but I put them on the bottom for good measure, cause there's a lot of it.**_  
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><p><em>A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love.<em>

-Stendhal

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Eragon didn't know how long he'd been in Galbatorix's prison. It felt like forever, but then again, forever could feel like a day. Through the fog of his addled dreams came a piercing sound, the sound of people moving outside the bars, a sound not unknown to him in the time he had been there, but something there woke him, and woke him completely.

He opened his eyes and saw the dark room around him, the lines of the walls no longer blurry or indefinable. Everything was crystal clear, fueled by that one sound, the sound of something he'd heard before, but not done in anger or revenge.

The sound of laughter.

True laughter; laughter of amusement, of teasing and playing and in good spirits, not the jeers of the guards. _Laughter_. It was the banter of two young servants who pulled him from the jumbled world of pain, their teasing and flirting amongst the steady _thumping_ of a knife on wood as they separated bone from the flesh of animals.

Eragon opened his eyes, watching the young couple, the boy tall and strong, perhaps looking to be in Galbatorix's army, with dark hair falling over his golden eyes, skin darkened from being in the sun, and a bright, white smile on his face as he drew a large knife down the length of the fish on the cutting board, using precise, even strokes.

The girl was separating the meat from the bones after her companion cut them, sliding the meat into a large crate and throwing the bones into a bucket, her smile fainter than his, hesitant. It was the same girl who had brought him food not but two days before, her manner still tense, but significantly relaxed from her previous visit.

"I'm not trying to sway you," The boy said, laughing as he slid another fish towards his silent companion. "I'm just trying to talk to you."

She shrugged. "There isn't much to talk of." Something hung between them, like an invisible raincloud over their heads.

Eragon struggled to listen to their words, hoping they would give him some hint as to the situation, as to what was going on, but he could not do much from his spot on the ground. Surely, they would notice if he moved – or perhaps merely the girl, as it was quite obvious the boy was completely absorbed with her presence. She seemed uncomfortable with the attention, eager to get away, unlike the headstrong boy at her side.

"There is you."

She shook her head, her gaze falling down to the fish. "Let's not, Ishmael."

He narrowed his eyes, pausing in his chopping to stare at her. She watched his hands. "I don't have to ask what it is you don't wish to speak of."

"Then stop speaking of it." She snapped, meeting his eyes with fire in her own. "Finish chopping, Ishmael, before someone comes and sees you." Her tone was sharp. Ishmael didn't seem to take it to heart, blowing a strand of black hair away from his face before doing as she said. "You really need to start tying that back, you know. It's getting far too long." She paused, a smile showing through her tone. "Or you could just cut it off."

"Hey!" He laughed, picking up another fish. "That is out of the question. Do you know how long it took me to grow it out this long, after my sister butchered it?"

She laughed in response, weaker but perhaps in an effort to speak of something else. "Too long. I liked the way she had it."

"Well, I hated it. You'll hate it too, right after I do it. And then you'll be wishing you hadn't asked me to do it."

She shook her head. "I don't think I'll do that. I'm not indecisive, Ishmael."

"I know." Slice. "But women never know what they want."

"Well," A bone landed in the bucket with a clang. "I'm not a woman, yet, Ishmael. I probably never will be, and before you say anything, I'll have you know I'm content with it."

Eragon sighed. This was getting him nowhere, but what else was he supposed to do?

And, finally, something seemingly random began to unfold before his eyes.

"You shouldn't be." She tried to back away, but it was too late. Ishmael had abandoned his fish to wrap his fingers around her wrists, keeping her so she would listen. "This isn't a _life_,_ fricai_. This is a prison – and you do not deserve to live in it."

Her arms were taut, keeping herself at arms length. "Ishmael, _eka wilae neo._ _Eom eitha er orothrim; eom eitha ar _andlat_. _" Eragon listened, stunned. So not only did this mysterious girl know the ancient language, her companion, a kitchen boy, knew it as well, and spoke it proficiently? It was a rather clever trick, enough to deter the majority of prying ears: but not his own. The girl sighed and shook her head; Eragon thought he heard a sob attempting to break. "_Alfr wilae neo atra eka eitha._"

She wouldn't leave, to leave was fool's wisdom, to leave was death. But what stood out most from her words was not the expected, what most would say, but what most wouldn't.

He will not let me leave.

_He_. Said with such weight, such misery. Eragon looked at the two servants, the girl staring at the ground towards the bars, silent tears forcing their way down her face, and remembered her words. Chains were not the only thing that bound.

The boy let go of her wrists, entangling his calloused fingers with her slender ones, using his other hand to gently wipe at her tears. "_Ono eru nuanen._ _Ach neo atra alfr jierda ono, atra eka heill ono._" You are beautiful. Do not let him break you, let me heal you.

Finally, she nodded, not meeting his kind eyes.

And Eragon watched in astonishment as the boy muttered a string of words in the ancient language, specific, clear, and just as precise as his knife work. Soon enough, he had finished, and several cuts and bruises disappeared from the girl's skin.

"There." He smiled, running his finger down her cheek. "All is well again."

"It was never _well_, Ishmael." Her voice shook.

He brought her into a gentle hug, sighing. "It will be. _Du dag wilae naina. Eka wilae huildr onr hjarta, nen ono huildr pomnuria. Ono eru iet lif._"

Listening to the way the words rolled off his tongue, the boy was no novice, nor was the girl, but the manner in which he spoke made it clear to Eragon that the boy was more proficient, and also quite eloquent, most likely due to his magic. Eragon could hardly believe it – a magician, in Galbatorix's very palace, no doubt a secret, for he was cleaning fish with a lovely, tortured serving girl. A girl who, if the young man's words were to be believed, the magician loved very much. His words were almost inspiring: The day will brighten. I will hold your heart, as you hold mine. You are my life.

For the first time, she let an ounce of her feeling for him show, the fingers on one hand clenching his, and the other gripping the back of his shirt as if to never let him go, knuckles white with force. "_Ach neo eitha eka, iet garjzla. Ach neo finna rauthr._" Do not leave me, my light. Do not find misfortune.

He placed a hesitant kiss in her hair. "Misfortune finds _us_, Lyss. We will brave it."

A clanking of metal began to sound from the hall.

The two separated, the girl pushing her hair behind her ears as the boy lifted the crate of meat into his arms. "_Waise ilia, iet hjarta. Eka wilae finna ono. " _Be happy, my heart. I will find you.

He strode to the doorway, crate in hand, leaving her to stand in the middle of the room before the bars of the prison, eyes wide and red, her hands limp at her sides and fingers spread wide, as if she was still expecting his fingers to slide in between hers. "Ishmael,"

He turned, arching a dark eyebrow with a serious expression. She took a deep breath, meeting his eyes. "_Onr vanyali wilae tauthr eka eom andlat._" She declared, the words flowing easily from her lips. "_Vel einradhin iet ai Shur'Tugal_."

Eragon felt dizzy. He closed his eyes a moment. She couldn't have said…

The boy smiled, his lips forming words but giving them no sound, no breath. "I love you, Alyssa."

_Vel einradhin iet ai Shur'Tugal._

She stood alone, footsteps on the stone carrying her love away, her fingers knitting together with worry, and fear etched onto her face. She was so young, just getting to marrying age, so very young and so very vulnerable…

_Vel einradhin iet ai Shur'Tugal._

Your magic will follow me to death…upon my word as a rider.

Eragon watched her from behind the black bars and his world was blurred again by the very sight of her.

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><p><strong>And here are the translations. I got these from the Inheritance wiki, which is much more comprehensive than the Shur'Tugal website, where I got the phrases for previous chapters. In order of appearance:<br>**

**Fricai** – friend

**Eka wilae neo** – I will not

**Eom eitha er orothrim. Eom eitha er andlat. Alfr wilae neo atra eka eitha.** – To leave is fool's wisdom. To leave is _death_. He will not let me leave.

**Ono eru nuanen. Ach neo atra alfr jierda ono, atra eka heill ono.** – You are beautiful. Do not let him break you, let me heal you.

**Du dag wilae naina. Eka wilae huildr hjarta, nen ono huildr pomnuria. Ono eru et lif.** – The day will brighten. I will hold your heart, as you hold mine. You are my life.

**Ach neo eitha eka, iet garjzla. Ach neo finna rauthr. **– Do not leave me, my light. Do not find misfortune.

**Waise ilia, iet hjarta. Eka wilae finna ono – **Be happy, my heart. I will find you.

**Onr vanyali wilae tauthr eka eom andlat, vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal.** – Your magic will follow me to death, upon my word as a rider.


	18. Chapter 17: History

**In exchange for answering several questions, this chapter is on the slow side. But you get to learn why Eragon is there, where Saphira is, and some of the stuff that's been happening in Uru'Baen for the past eighteen years (just a note, Alyssa is seventeen, I'm just giving it a year between Uru'Baen and her birth). For future reference, this is mainly going to be Eragon and Alyssa's POV (or third person singular, but whatever) but I will probably throw some other characters in, and I won't strictly go E/A/E/A/E...etc. Just whatever ends up happening.  
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**Franny Mika:** Again, thanks for reviewing! I'm glad to know the timeskip and Eragon's anonymity worked well. As for Ishmael, we'll do more on him once we start getting back to Alyssa's side of things, but I will say, though he will have his part in the plot, he's mostly there for mush reasons (cause Alyssa has to have an angsty forbidden romance, right?). And don't feel bad if you create an account and not post or finish anything. Everybody does it (oh, and by the way, you didn't miss a chapter, I posted them at the same time)

**On a side note, I would like to say again that I enjoy writing Thorn. He's just so darn cool. Saphira wasn't as easy as usual this chapter, but she's easier to write than Eragon. Eragon's so freaking moody all the freaking time...**

**Anyway, kudos to my epic reviewers, and enjoy :)  
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><p><em>We are not makers of history. We are made by history.<em>

-Martin Luther King, Jr

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Eragon refused to stay in the prison a moment longer.

One week was too much – he should never have taken the risk in the first place, never went through with the plan. Eighteen years of hiding and all of it thrown away for a feeble attempt to capture one of the outposts on the Surdan border.

He might not be able to get out of the city, but at the very least he could get out of this cage and find Saphira.

They'd refrained from contact, cutting off all sense of each other in case Galbatorix was monitoring them – because surely he was, considering the simple prison Eragon was confined to – and he was eager to see her. Perhaps her presence could soothe his fraying nerves and sort through his addled thoughts.

Getting out of the cell was not the difficult part, finding Saphira was. Surely there were few places large enough to cage a dragon, but Eragon didn't know Uru'Baen well enough to sneak around. After some wandering he finally admitted to himself that searching this way was useless. He would have to risk a quick moment of connection.

The flash of color and thought from his dragon's mind was too short and jumbled to make anything of. Red, green, and blackness all around, chains, and a dull pain; vague thoughts of relief and worry.

Eragon frowned. He had a general idea of what the room looked like on the inside, but on the outside? It was useless.

Suddenly, a door appeared in his mind's eye, an unfamiliar consciousness pushing the image until it was etched into Eragon's memory. The door grew smaller, and the hall grew longer, and the image moved through the halls, as if moving backwards to his current location.

He took a breath as the world around him fizzled back into place, carefully beginning to take the path shown to him. The presence was not malicious, but with so many powerful magicians sworn to Galbatorix, he couldn't know for sure.

When he reached the doors, he sensed Saphira behind them and paused. What if they wanted him to find her?

_Little one, come._

He nearly burst the doors open, striding through them as fast as he could.

He came to an abrupt halt when he looked around the dark room, the only light a few random torches on the walls, glinting off dragons' scales.

Dragons _plural_.

_Why did you not come sooner?_ Saphira snorted, pawing the stone as much as she could in the chains that held her to the ground.

"I didn't know where you were."

_You could have asked. Be thankful I assumed your problem was misdirection._

Eragon sighed. "I'm sorry, Saphira. Thank you for helping me."

_Show Thorn gratitude, he was the one who led you here._

Thorn snorted. _I am not your dragon, Shadeslayer. I need no profuse exclamation of thanks. You have arrived, and that is enough. We must speak quickly, for you must return to your prison within the hour._

_I will show him,_ Saphira insisted. _It will be much faster._

_Very well,_ Thorn agreed.

A burst of information flooded Eragon's mind, mingled with colors and sounds. It took Eragon a moment to realize Saphira's memories were of Thorn's memories – it hurt his head to ponder such inception – memories of the years since the Varden's defeat at Uru'Baen, of Galbatorix's movements.

Those memories were hard to bear, but the images that struck him the hardest were of a beautiful, curly-haired child.

_Amusement. She was barely two years old, playing, running around and leaping onto his forelegs without a care in the world._

_Strength. Eight-years-old, holding her chin high as she marched into Galbatorix's throne room, a tiny, lone figure in the grand golden expanse of the room_

_Protection. Nine years old, a green dragonlet resting in her arms, tail curled around his body. She held him close to her chest, daring any to come near, whispering his name reverently._

_Determination. Ten years old, a short sword in her hands that was still too big. The soldiers watching, laughing. She hauled it above her waist and took a deep breath before swinging at the dummy, stabbing and slicing and thrusting until her blow could send it ricocheting across the room._

_Duty. Her thirteenth birthday, a captive begging at her feet, the mad king whispering behind her, urging her to take this fatal step. Her dragon, larger now, sitting beside him and practically shaking with fear. Murtagh with them, seething with fury. He held all their tempers and worries at bay._

_ Zar'Roc in her hand, gleaming brightly as it arched down to the man's throat, neatly slicing a cut across the vein and sending him tumbling to the ground, drenching her feet and the hem of her new dress in his blood. Galbatorix's smile._

_Vulnerability. Darkness, night, her legs curled to her chest and her head in her hands as she cried. He tried to comfort her, but nothing could erase the smear of blood on her life._

_Anger. Fifteen years, her sword dancing between the incorporeal opponents conjured by a shaking magician. Her curls flew around her face, coming out of a tight knot as she moved, graceful and almost beautiful in her vengeance, green eyes alight with rage from the day's events. Her dragon slept soundly, the injuries he sustained from Shruikan's madness healed, but the wound in his rider's heart was still bleeding._

_Someone came too close to her imaginary duel, pushed into the ring by a comrade in jest. Her sword slid through his ribs as he clattered to the ground. She raised her eyes to them._

_The soldiers didn't laugh, anymore. _

_Deceit. Sixteen years. He hated the way she smiled, so disarming, so charming, so compliant, enough to send chills through one's being. Galbatorix smiled proudly down at his pet, kneeling beside her dragon with the keys to another city clenched in her fist. _

_Masquerade. She was his prize, his toy, his tool. She inspired fear and envy. She had learned to fight in a dress, and to fight cleanly enough that she would avoid major stains, for him. He always enjoyed watching the reactions of those present when she transformed from a lovely young girl to a fearsome killer in mere seconds. She stepped away from the blood and ran a cloth down her sword, arching an eyebrow at the onlookers._

_No amount of jewelry or velvet could disguise what lay beneath the skin._

With each memory, she grew stronger. With each one, she grew taller, older. With each one her skills greatened, and with each one the world's fear heightened. With each one, the light began to fade, and with each passing memory, the darkness crept in.

He felt Saphira's sympathy as sharply as he had felt anger when the girl first visited him.

"You have been training them?" Eragon wondered aloud.

_As much as possible,_ Thorn replied. _Galbatorix preferred to do so himself, but Shruikan's madness was taking a heavy toll on Firnen. Alyssa refused to move forward unless something was done._

"And he _did it?_" Eragon asked, astonished.

_She is the princess of Uru'baen._ Anger flared through Thorn's being. _It was a small concession, on his part. So many injuries would only weaken Firnen, and thus weaken his pet. _Thorn growled. _Galbatorix preferred to use Murtagh and myself as a single entity, but Alyssa and Firnen are different. Firnen is simply a bonus, something to enhance her power as Shruikan does for Galbatorix. _

"Then why hasn't she done anything?" Eragon demanded. "She could rouse the whole city into action and claim it was on his orders. She could turn them against him."

Thorn growled. _They _hate_ her, Eragon. She executes, tortures, puts into action every foul deed he can conceive. He has made sure she has no allies – they would sooner follow Galbatorix._

Eragon groaned. "Can people refrain from being ignorant, for simply a moment, and realize that it is _Galbatorix_ who is hurting them, with a new messenger?"

_He has intertwined his evil with her face. _Thorn's anger was rising. _Such is a difficult thing to forget, Eragon, for no matter whose lips the words came from, evil was done by _her_ hand._

Eragon sighed and paced, running his hand through his hair. "Why her, anyway?" He demanded. "If memory serves people weren't lining up to touch the egg, and a child could not break into his treasure room." He paused. "And you said he values _her_, not the dragon. So surely she must mean something to him."

_Perhaps my memories weren't clear enough_. Thorn mused, reflecting more on the translation from dragon to human than Eragon himself. _He hoped Firnen would hatch for her as another method of control. It is much easier for her to submit when it is Firnen being hurt. He is younger than her, and she feels responsible for him. This notion that she must take care of him drives her to great lengths._

_Eragon,_ Saphira began, so slowly he knew she was attempting to break something difficult to him. _We knew Nasuada would be tortured, when we did not chase her._

Thorn jumped in. _Murtagh helped her for some time, but when the king discovered the treachery, he devised an illusion of himself punishing Murtagh. Nasuada swore to save Murtagh's life, or so she thought. By the time she knew it was too late._

Saphira delivered the difficult part. _An ally is a rare find in such a life. You cannot be angry with them for taking solace in that._

Eragon had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, a sinking feeling that told him he would not like what she said next.

_They married, Eragon, and it was not long before she became with child. She gave birth to a daughter._

He could guess her next words, but that did not make them sting any less. It was as if all the air had been pushed out of his lungs.

_Alyssa is their daughter, Eragon. She is Murtagh and Nasuada's daughter._


	19. Interlude: War

**HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

**I will not be updating until after the new year, and my estimation for that update is sketchy at best. After I get back from vacation school starts again, so between that and work I'm gonna be super busy.**

**So, because I will not be updating for a while, here is a teaser/snippet/interlude to sort of set the tone and subject for the next part of the story.**

**I hope you all had a good Christmas and the rest of the year, thank you all for reading, and, once again, kudos and happy new year!**

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><p>Alyssa kept her breathing quiet as she peered around the corner, absorbing as much information as she could from the confrontation taking place just within her field of vision. The two guards argued and argued and argued - about absolutely <em>nothing<em> - and all the while the prisoner sat quietly in his cell, watching them contentedly almost as if they didn't exist.

Eragon's calmness made her blood boil.

How could he be so arrogant? So...so...pretend to know _her_! He didn't. He would never. He _couldn't_ understand. Because he had been treasured and protected as a last hope and she had been raised high into the realms of pain and deceit as the enemy of freedom.

Despite Alyssa's elaborate reasoning, when the guards left and she stepped out of her hiding place, eyes hard and glaring daggers as Eragon stood and met her eyes with equal fury, the conflict came down to a simple truth.

He could not understand her, and she could not understand him, because he was _him_ and she was _her_, and things would always be that way.

No matter how different, as the riders stared each other down on either side of the bars, both displayed an equal amount of stubborness.

No matter how twisted their perceptions of each other were, neither would give in, if only for the sake of proving the other wrong.

They leveled their gazes and squared their shoulders, feet planted firmly on the ground; unblinking, lips pressed into hard lines.

Let the battle begin.


	20. Author's Note: Indefinite Hiatus

**I have officially given up. School + work +preschool=kicking my butt.  
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**But I have a confession to make...this story was a distraction. I sometimes take temporary hiatuses from my original stories, just to step back from it a minute, and this hiatus is over. I try to be very realistic with myself and cut down all distractions, so if it's not my current focus, I'm not working on it.**

**I will say I do love this story. I really do. As much fun as fanfiction is (not to mention a helpful stress-reliever) I believe my time is far better spent working on my original stuff. U**ntil the next time I get so utterly frustrated I need to walk away from it for a while, it's highly doubtful I will _stop_ working on my original and come back to this one.****

**So, all you readers and reviewers and followers and favorite-ers are absolutely awesome, and I can't give you enough kudos to express how wonderful your feedback was.**

**Kudos to you all, have a great year, and hopefully next time you hear from me, I'll be well on my way to finishing that darned original story.**

**-Faith  
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